As The Sun Rises
by persephuzzled
Summary: Severus reflects on how he has changed. Short, fluffy, oneshot. HGSS


Disclaimer: If you think that J.K. Rowling would ever write this, you're kinda mad. I am not J.K. Rowling, I'm not making any money out of this, the characters are not mine, etc etc etc.

A.N: Spoilers for HBP.A one-shot HG/SS. I have read many, many fics of this pairing, and I have a persistent feeling that someone else has written a short story based on the same thing (Severus hating mornings). If you have written a similar story, please leave a review with a link to it, and I shall add you in my disclaimer. Thank you!

And be kind, please. It's my first attempt.

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He had always hated mornings.

Mornings meant twinkly-eyed headmasters offering him lemon drops when all he wanted was some strong coffee, indifference from colleagues when all he wanted was acceptance, and him trying to prevent classrooms full of dunderheads from blowing up the entire castle when all he wanted was to pursue his own research.

Mornings meant trying to function normally through the day while the previous night's Dark Revel was still fresh in his mind. It meant going about his daily business as though nothing was wrong, while the pain from the Cruciatus curse still caused his body to spasm. It meant trying to prevent havoc in his classroom when the screams of the tortured rang in his ears.

Severus Snape _loathed_ mornings.

And then…things changed.

The-Boy-Who-Finally-Decided-To-Fulfill-The-Prophecy vanquished the Dark Lord, once and for all. He was there. He felt the Dark Mark leave his arm with a searing pain. The brand which had made him welcome in a select circle but shunned in the rest of the world had finally been removed from his skin.

The last time he would ever feel pain in that spot.

And with time, people adjusted. The fear and apprehensiveness that had hung over the entire Wizarding community for the last few years as a miasma slowly dissipated away. Families let go of their loved ones who had fallen in defense of the Light. People, changed by their experiences of the war, drifted, hoping to find solace in a foreign land, one not so close to the wounds inflicted by the war. Others returned to their childhood homes, seeking comfort in familiarity, even if it had been the setting for the final battle.

One of those was her. Hermione Granger.

She had escaped from major injury in the last battle, but some of her friends had not been so lucky. Ron Weasley had a permanent limp. Harry Potter was still undergoing physical therapy. Countless others of her peers had fallen to either the Death Eaters or Voldemort himself. She came back, ostensibly to fill in the post of the Arithmancy professor, but in reality to find comfort, to return to a safe and secure place where she could just _be_.

He either deliberately antagonised her or ignored her at first, as was his wont. As she had risen in the levels of the school, her fierce streak of competitiveness and determination to prove herself had only served to make her more annoying in classes. She could never stand it if anyone outscored her, as she demonstrated during her 6th year with her behaviour regarding Potter's newfound brilliance in Potions.

Potter's brilliance. Ha. More like _his _brilliance.

He eventually dragged his head out of the cloud of prejudice it had been floating in and really looked at her, actually _looked_, as he had never looked before. And he realised that whatever she had been in her 7th year, she had altered. War tends to do that to people. Not only was there no longer a need to prove her brilliance despite her Muggle heritage, but she no longer felt the need to do so. She quietly worked in her position, still meeting with her friends and retaining much of her Gryffindor traits, but no longer showy. Her physical being had altered, too. Not much, mind you. Her hair was still as wild as ever, and there was no extraordinary beauty of her face. But her body had finally curved into that of a woman's, and he noticed just how expressive her eyes were.

Eyes that danced with mirth when she heard a joke; eyes that filled with sympathy when someone needed a listening ear; eyes that held love when she gazed at her friends, her mentors, at…him.

He could not say how he knew that to be true, nor could he pinpoint the day and time when he began to feel the same way. She had somehow neatly wormed herself into his heart, his heart that he had not allowed to love. All he could say is that one weekend in October, their lips slowly, tentatively met, gradually developing into a tender expression of feelings.

It was morning. Severus Snape _hated_ mornings.

But not this one.

"Good morning, my love."

"Good morning, Severus."

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Reviews are very much appreciated.


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